


Roso y Blanco

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: AU, Gen, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse returns from Mexico and Walt tries to mend their partnership, but unforeseen events may have everyone involved evaluating their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges from canon after "Salud"; assumes that both Gus and Mike died from their injuries at the end of that episode. Spoilers through "Salud" and slight ones for afterward depending on how you read certain sections. Not sure whether that counts as "Major Character Death", but there you go.
> 
> Inspired by the episode "After Life" of St. Elsewhere, though I hadn't actually seen it at the time I wrote this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters and make no money from this.

It all starts when Jesse gets home from Mexico, and his eyes are a little wider, his voice a little raspier.

He knocks on the door of Walt’s condo and blurts out: “Gus and Mike are both dead.”

Walt knows it wasn’t the ricin, wasn’t Jesse’s doing, and he feels a renewed pang of guilt for giving Jesse this job, this next irredeemable deed.

“How?” he asks, and he ushers Jesse inside and watches as the younger man shakes his head from side to side but comes in anyway, staring at Walt’s couch as if he’s no longer sure what its function is.

“Mike – shot. Gus – poison. I dunno.” Jesse can’t elaborate on the details, doesn’t understand all of them and doesn’t want to understand the ones that he does. He shudders and stares at Mr. White, the man who he told to get the fuck out and never come back. And here he is, coming back himself. But it’s better to swallow his pride than be alone.

“Poison?” Walt echoes, and Jesse just nods, still shell-shocked. How he got here in such a state, Walt figures he will never know.

“Can I crash here a few days?” He doesn’t say the obvious this time, hopes Mr. White gets it this time, the way he didn’t with the go-kart offer.

“Sure, no problem.” Somehow, he does. The days without Jesse have made him acutely aware of how much he needs his thick-headed young partner. 

“Really?” Jesse looks shocked, then ecstatic. “I’m just gonna… go grab my stuff… from my place… Clothes and stuff.” 

“How did you get here?” Walt inquires, leaning his head towards the window and not seeing Jesse’s car parked out front.

“Walked.”

“Walked? Jesse, it’s two miles from your place to mine. I’ll give you a ride back. Just take a seat for a second, you need to sit down.” Jesse looks around as if the floor is falling out from under him, and scurries to the couch, sitting tentatively as if he’ll be ordered to get up at any moment for tracking dirt on it or something similar. Walt sighs; this is what this has become, what his constant emotional haranguing of Jesse has led to. “Do you want a soda – water – anything?” Jesse shakes his head, but Walt gets up anyway and returns with a glass of water. “You should drink. You’re probably dehydrated.” Jesse accepts, passively takes the glass from Walt and drinks, his eyes not leaving the older man.

A firm hand is what Jesse needs.

“We’re going to go out to your house and get your things,” Walt tells him with calmness that he desperately wishes he felt. “We’re going to take my car.” Jesse nods. Walt remembers that look of shell-shock – it’s usually due to something that had to do with him. He lets the younger man sit for a little while, not speaking, before he extends his arm and helps Jesse up before making his way to the door and opening it. The motions go slowly, haltingly, and neither speaks. Walt begins to drive, knowing the way to Jesse’s house as well as he does his own by now.

When they arrive and park on Jesse’s street, Jesse lets him in – the old threat and promise lingering between both of them but not mentioned by either. Jesse circles the room, looking confused and gazing behind his TV and speakers a few moments before walking up the stairs. Walt wonders if he should follow him, as Jesse seems completely lost – but a few moments later, he emerges with a duffel bag slung over his arm filled with clothes, blankets and a pillow. Jesse wonders whether, if he looked around hard enough, he’d find one of the teddy bears from his youth (as much as he hates to admit it, he could use one right about now), but then he recalls how his parents repossessed all of his things and either kept or sold them. There’s no use worrying about that.

They walk out; Jesse locks the door after a few tries, drops the key and Walt picks it up, hands it to him silently and he pockets it. He pulls the bag over to the Aztec as Walt ducks inside and pops the trunk.

That’s when it happens, when Walt has his head stuck inside the car and Jesse tosses the bag in, steps back and to the side as he slams the lid down with all the remaining energy he has.

The car comes around the corner way too fast – it’s bright red, a convertible, and its headlights seem to be right behind Jesse before he can jump out of the way. 

Walt sticks his head out when he hears the crash, just in time to see the doors to the convertible open and hear a female shriek.

“Chad!” the brunette wails. She turns and looks at Walt, guilt and panic in her eyes. Those same eyes narrow as she says, surprised, “Mr. White?”


	2. Code Blue

Chad and his girlfriend want to run, but the look on Mr. White’s face makes them think better of it, and it’s a start – they’re suddenly truly afraid of the man they have spent the better part of their high school careers mocking.

“Call 911, you fucking idiots!” Walt barks at them, and the cell phone Chad’s girlfriend still holds in her hand, which is buzzing a text – the response to the text she’d been sending while turning the corner on Jesse’s street – is suddenly being dialed as Walt’s crouching in one fluid moment next to where Jesse is pinned under the car. He can’t help but think how fucking ironic it is that after Tuco and Gus, after Mexico, the force to end Jesse’s life may be a teenage girl’s inability to keep her eyes on the road.

Walt curses 911, and he curses ambulances and phones and the two petulant shits that did this, and he curses them all from the time he moves downward to kneel by Jesse, but he punctures those curses with frantic, desperate pleading – “Jesse? Jesse, are you awake? Can you hear me?” He knows not to touch the young man – couldn’t if he wanted to anyway, the way he’s pinned, but being forced to keep his hands at his sides and not intervene is killing him, reminding him of another time he – no, no, it wasn’t the same, not in any way.

After what seems like a lifetime – or maybe two or three, alternate endings that Walt flips through, most of which end in this moment as he implodes when Jesse dies in front of his eyes – the ambulance arrives, and Walt rambles an explanation of what happened: “I was talking with Mr. Pinkman when suddenly this car came out of nowhere and there was no time to react…” Walt adds to it, trying to explain what the hell he was doing with Jesse before he realizes that the paramedics don’t really care why he was with Jesse and are busy shoving him out of the way before lifting up the car slowly, precariously and snipping bits of metal away and extracting him. 

The sight of the bolt clippers assaulting the convertible appears to upset Chad and his girlfriend more than the sight of Jesse’s crumpled form (only now does Chad’s girlfriend begin to sob and grab his hand, force her face against his varsity jersey). Walt wishes he could tap into Heisenberg just long enough to show them what pain actually is, but he manages to keep his focus on Jesse, who’s being carted into the ambulance on a stretcher now and Walt leaves behind thoughts of revenge and retribution and follows. 

“Are you family?” a paramedic asks.

Without hesitation, Walt answers: “Yes.”

***

“You’ve reached Walter White. Please state your name, the time and the reason for your call.”

“Hi, Walt? It’s Skyler. Is getting a hold of you really going to be this impossible? I need to talk to you, sooner rather than later. Call me back.”

“You’ve reached Walter White. Please state your name, the time and the reason for your call.”

“Walt. This is Skyler – your wife. Call me? Or pick up? Send up smoke signals? Tap out Morse code even. Whatever is convenient for you.”

Skyler hangs up the phone in irritation. What was the point in Walt having a cell phone if he never answered it?

 _Maybe if I had the number to the second one, I’d have better luck,_ she thinks wryly. 

Irritation washes slowly into worry. She still can’t believe her husband, her mild-mannered chemistry teacher husband, has turned out to be this meth dealer going on about how he is “the one who knocks”. She doesn’t quite buy it, is sure he’s still in over his head, but is unwilling to pull the string by turning him in because she doesn’t know how much it would pull down, like yanking out a suture and taking out three or four teeth when she just wanted the irritating, maddening feeling to go away.   
The feeling eating Skyler’s been more than irritating, it’s all-consuming and nausea-inducing, and it shows in the bloodied cuticles on each finger, shows in the scratches on the back of her neck when she over-reacted to a simple itch, feeling like something was crawling over her.

She wishes above all that Walt would just let her _in_ a little, just tell her what is going on rather than give her platitudes about how he is safe as houses.

When it comes down to it, after all, this family is all Skyler really has – this screwed-up marriage with Walt and her dysfunctional relationship with Marie. Her son who despite all of her attempts would rather align with the father whose secret would shatter him utterly. The daughter who will likely never know him. 

Skyler used to scoff at the friends of her who’d married people who were constantly in one rut or another – but she was supposed to be safe, she had married a chemistry teacher for God’s sake!

She picks up the phone, scrolls down her contacts until she arrives at “Walt”, and pushes the button again.

She hears the first ring…


	3. Condition Critical

Walt watches in the ambulance as the team pokes and prods Jesse, tries to stabilize his frame and keep his spinal cord in a straight line, and he doesn’t have time or ability to think. He wants to move closer to the younger man but cannot; there is a barrier of paramedics between the two and it seems like it’s a huge rift, one he can’t cross and he resents every single one of them because while he acknowledges their necessity in saving his young partner’s life, he wishes it could just be him, wishes all of these people didn’t have their hands all over him like he’s just another patient – which to them, Walt knows, he is.

If Walt didn’t know better, he would think that Jesse was dead – his eyelids are shut and he looks totally unresponsive as he is examined and eventually, when the ambulance pulls up in front of the hospital, carried down a ramp and into the hospital.  
Jesse is wheeled into another room, one where Walt cannot follow. A paramedic tells him he can see him as soon as he’s stabilized, but they don’t know when that will be (they don’t say it, but they don’t even know if that will be.)

Walt’s left simply waiting and shuffling back and forth, wishing he had any idea what to do; his hands can’t find something useful to hold on to so they fiddle with the buttons on his red and gray flannel shirt, pulling the little black button out of the hole and then forcing it back in again, finally tearing one off from the constant repetition. He wishes he had a guidebook for this sort of thing: can he even visit Jesse? What’s the protocol? 

He pulls out his cell phone and dismisses three calls from Skyler before switching to his other phone and dialing Saul’s number, which is listed in the phone as “Domino’s”. 

“You’ve reached the office of Saul Goodman. How may I direct your call?” chirps an enthusiastic female voice.

“This is Walter White. I need to talk to Saul right now.”

“One moment, Mr. White.” There’s a moment of on-hold music – Walt recognizes it as “Take On Me” by A-Ha – and then a click. 

“Hey, Walter.”

“I need your help, Saul. Does Jesse have anything filed with you… like a living will?”

“I believe so. Why do you ask? You planning on taking him out? Because I have to say, I disagree and you really ought to think about this rationally…” 

Walt cuts him off: “He’s been hit by a car.”

“Well, all right, in THAT case… let me check.”

Walt is put back on hold, and by this time the music has changed to “TiK ToK” by Ke$ha. Walt is surely tempted to hang up as he hears phrasing that perhaps Jesse could explain to him if he really wanted to know (he doesn’t), but mercifully he is connected again.

“I’ll be right over.”

***

Skyler dials the hospitals first, when she hears no word from Walt for two hours since she last called. She wonders if she’d even get an answer that way, if the worst had happened, or if she would just not hear from him one day and he would be forever “missing”.

When she calls the third hospital in the phone book, the receptionist replies, after listening to a description of what Walt looks like, “I believe he’s here, ma’am. But not as a patient. I think I saw him checking somebody in.”

“Checking someone in? Who?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. Someone for the ER.”

“The ER?”

“The ER, yeah – hey, I dunno if I’m allowed to have told you that.” Deciding she wasn’t going to get anything more from the receptionist, Skyler hangs up and walks out the door, pulling it closed and glowering at no one in particular. _Who was Walt checking into the hospital? Was it even him that dippy receptionist saw? And if it was, do I even care?_

She locks the door with a frenzied, furious motion – surprised the key doesn’t break off inside – and walks over to her car, opening it and climbing inside. _Tracking down Walt again. Great._

When she arrives at the hospital and finds a parking space, she slams the door and marches into the ER. _Time to get to the bottom of this – so tired of always getting to the bottom of this. Why couldn’t the next surprise up Walt’s sleeve be bouquet of roses instead of terminal diagnoses and secret meth labs?_

She wonders how in the world she’ll find him or if he’s even still here or if he just dropped somebody off and then went home.  
As she heads towards the desk, she finds herself staring at the unmistakable form of Saul Goodman, whose eyes are filled with annoyance at the fact that he has encountered her as well. 

“He didn’t say you were coming!” he exclaims. 

“He didn’t tell me he was coming,” Skyler replies shortly. “Why is Walt in the hospital?”

“I…”

“Saul.”

“I can’t tell you. Attorney-client privilege.” Skyler stops asking and simply follows Saul into the waiting room. As she sees Walt, she rushes forward, not sure whether she wants to hug him or slap him across the face. 

“What happened?” she asks, and Walt looks up and meets the eyes of Saul, who shrugs. He’ll have to tell her _something_. But what? “Tell me the truth, Walt.” She forces him to meet her eyes. “I need to know.” Walt takes a deep breath; he can tell the truth now, can’t he? He tries to cycle through the events to find if there is anything incriminating within it. Not finding anything, he takes another breath.

“Jesse Pinkman… Do you remember Jesse Pinkman?”

“Yes,” Skyler replies quickly, the look in her eyes demanding that Walt get on with it.

“He was hit by a car,” Walt says simply. “He’s in critical condition.” Skyler’s look turns from aggrieved to horrified.

“Oh, God, Walt.” It’s in this moment that Skyler realizes that the relationship between Walt and Jesse goes far deeper than she ever suspected, because behind Walt’s eyes, hidden ever so slightly and in danger of seeping out ever so slowly, was pure emotion, the reality that Walt was barely holding it together. 

She doesn’t know how to feel about that. Her Walt is hurting and she doesn’t know what to do.

She reaches out and grabs his hand in hers, holds it tight.

“He’s going to be okay, Walt,” she tells him firmly, “We’re going to make sure.”


	4. Responsible

“I, Jesse Bruce Pinkman, name the following individual as my agent to make health-care decisions for me: Walter White,” Saul jerks his head in Walt’s direction as he adds, “- that’s you – blah, blah, blah, and you already know your address and phone number.”

“So that means,” Skyler begins, “That Walt can choose Jesse Pinkman’s treatment? All of it?” She leans in, questioning and concerned. It’s almost like finding out that Walt had some kind of illegitimate child that she never knew about. 

“That’s what it says here,” Saul replies, poking the paper and beginning to read off, “He has authority to ‘consent or refuse any care, treatment, service or procedure to maintain, diagnose or otherwise affect a physical or mental condition, select or discharge health-care providers and institutions; approve or disapprove diagnostic tests, surgical procedures, programs of medication and orders not to resuscitate; and direct the provision, withholding or withdrawal of artificial nutrition and hydration and all other forms of health care. If I revoke my agent’s authority or if my agent is not willing, able or reasonably available to make a health-care decision for me, I designate as my first alternate agent…’ Andrea Cantillo, at blah-blah-blah Street… And the second alternate is, I’m sorry to say, no longer among the living.” 

“Andrea?” Walt exclaims, ignoring the latter information and latching on to offense, “Is that that girlfriend of his?” His head rings with the memory of Jesse telling him about the girl he’d talked to, the one who had told him about her brother… _Her brother Tomas…_ “Or a new one?” 

“No, same girlfriend,” Saul supplies. 

“He barely knows that girl! I’ve never even met her! What the hell is he thinking?” Walt rages indignantly. The lawyer holds up his hands, and Skyler takes a moment to stare at him. 

“Guess it’s good that you’re ‘able and willing’, then, right?” Saul retorts. He reaches out and hands Walt the folder before patting him hard on the back. “My job here is done. The rest is up to you.”

And just like that, Saul leaves (just walks out the door, ready for business, business elsewhere), and Walt is responsible for Jesse – officially, now, responsible in a way he’d always tried to be surreptitiously. Why had Jesse done this, laid this on him? How would he explain this to Skyler? Damn that Pinkman, that reckless…

“We should sit down,” Skyler tells him, slowly sitting in a square black leather chair. They remind her of the kind that align airport waiting rooms; they are blocky and uncomfortable, awkward and if people had been sitting on either side of them they would have been crushed up against them. However, no one is around, and Skyler gestures for Walt to take the chair next to her. “Have you heard anything, other than that he’s critical? How badly is he hurt?”

“I don’t know,” Walt replies; he wishes there was a numerical equation he could toss out – “he lost 25% of his blood but he has an 80% survival rate” or something – but all he can add is, “He wasn’t conscious. They came out of nowhere. He was pinned. They cut the car away.” The words are said calmly because if Walt lets up he knows he will break down, right here right now and then the cat’s out of the bag for good.

“I’m staying here with you.” It’s not a question; Skyler doesn’t ask questions, not in times like these, she makes demands, she takes control.

“What about Holly? Junior?”

“They’re with Hank and Marie,” Skyler replies, before adding quickly, “They don’t know anything about this. I dropped them off before I figured out what was going on.” The accusation in her voice lingers almost gently. “I’ll just tell Marie… something.” Some other half-or-quarter-truth. 

A doctor emerges, (he’s young, looking more like a resident than someone they can trust with Jesse’s life, and he’s got curly brown hair that makes him look even younger) and Skyler nearly pounces on him, a lioness pinning her prey.

“How is he?” she barks. “What’s his condition?” The doctor’s eyes widen.

“And you are?”

“This is my wife, Skyler,” Walt replies, rising out of the seat. “And I don’t know if you need this documentation.” He extends the living will paperwork, hoping the doctor will say that they don’t need it, that Jesse is going to be just fine.

“Thank you, Mr. --” the doctor begins.

“White.”

“Mr. White. I’m Dr. Hendrickson.” 

Suddenly, Walt does not want to be called that by anyone other than a much less worse-for-wear Jesse, so he replies, “Walter is fine.”

“Walter, then. Mr. Pinkman has lost a lot of blood, his leg was crushed, and he has some severe head trauma from hitting the ground.” The doctor looks surprised when it’s Walt who lets out a strangled gasp and Skyler who steps forward to grab his hand. “We’re not sure what his prognosis is at this point. He needs a blood transfusion and from there…” He looks at the couple sadly. “It’s going to be very touch-and-go from there, I’m afraid.”

“Blood?” Walt inquires, latching upon something he can do, some way to get this situation back under his control. “What’s Jesse’s blood type?”

“A Negative,” Dr. Hendrickson replies.

“I’m O Negative – I’ll donate,” Walt begins.

“No, you won’t,” Skyler retorts. “ _I’m_ A Negative and _I_ will donate. My husband,” she looks at him, “is a cancer patient and in no shape to donate…”

“Skyler…”

“Where do I go?” Skyler cuts him off, rolling up her arm. Walt doesn’t have time to respond as she follows the doctor out of the room.


	5. Welcome to Somewhere

Jesse feels a soft, almost feathery touch against his cheek and opens his eyes. He’s partially surprised that everything doesn’t hurt – the last thing he can remember is a big bang and then a fireball of pain exploding inside him. But that surprise is tossed away by that which he feels realizing that, as he looks up – for he must be lying down – the feathery-gentle feeling has come from the cocoa-colored fingertips of Gus Fring, who is crouching before Jesse with a look of expectancy, not without some impatience. Next to him is Mike (Jesse learned a last name for him but it just doesn’t suit him somehow, like he really doesn’t need one), also crouched and looking at him with an expression of… well, Jesse can’t tell, exactly - it’s some mix of paternal pride and annoyed concern. 

Jesse slowly rolls over and pushes himself to his feet. He doesn’t feel woozy or sick, and that realization both surprises him and worries him. He remembers Mr. Pike, his old woodworking teacher, telling the class (after some kid jabbed his finger and wouldn’t stop complaining about it) that pain wasn’t a bad thing, that “pain is your body telling you that you need to fix something – you should be more worried if you don’t feel any pain because then you could die and not even realize it”. Jesse doesn’t feel – well, that’s not quite true, he feels something, feels sensation but doesn’t feel pain or discomfort or anything he really thinks that he ought to feel. 

“Where am I?” he asks quietly, staring at Gus and Mike. He already knows part of the answer before he does, because logically neither of these men should be here. Logically both of these men are buried somewhere in the Mexican desert. 

“Welcome to purgatory, kid.”

***

Skyler returns, sporting a bandage covered in what appears to be clear packing tape. Her husband – estranged, or not quite estranged, or not persistently estranged – is sitting in the same seat, one leg wrapped around the other as if he’s purposefully trying to cut off his own circulation. She can sense that he’s a bundle of nerves and she is too, but she can’t fight the resentment that at least he understands this while she is stuck playing catch-up. She feels as if she is trying to race an Amtrak train on a Segway. 

“Are you okay?” Walt asks as soon as she sits down, and she gives him a quizzical look in response.

“I’m fine, Walt. It’s just donating blood.” She blinks; how can he be worried about her at a time like this? It’s ridiculous. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m…”

Skyler cuts off the “I’m fine” before he can finish it. 

“There’s nothing at stake,” she tells him bluntly. She doesn’t blink during the words; her eyes lock on to his and she projects into him that she means every word. 

Walt stares at her.

“What?”

“There’s nothing at stake if you are actually honest with me this time. So just do it,” she hisses, “You’re not fine, so don’t bother to say you are.” _How can he not understand this? What is he not getting? Just be honest with me. Tell me about Jesse. Tell me how you really feel for him and what you two share because I can tell it’s past a simple business partnership._ But she can’t say the words, can only hope he hears them reverberating in her mind. 

“Skyler,” Walt lets out a sigh. “Oh, Skyler, I’m…. I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies.” 

Skyler stares this time, before she nods. _That’s going to have to be close enough,_ she thinks. 

“Well, he’s not going to,” she tells her husband firmly. “Jesse will pull through.” Walt’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“Well, now that he’s got _your_ blood, he’s got to.” 

***

“Purgatory?” Jesse echoes. “Like as in, ‘I’m dead’ purgatory? Holy shit.” Jesse blinks. _Am I allowed to curse in purgatory?_ He wonders. 

“Not quite,” Mike replies, “You’re kind of on the edge between life and death, kid. You’ve got to take the grand tour and see if you’re going to stay or go.” Jesse blinks, looking up at the man, not sure what to say to him. He’s not sure what part of this is most surprising; he’s not sure what way of reacting will make him feel any less like he is on the razor’s edge of losing his mind. And if he really is in purgatory, then his mind is all that he has, now.

“We are here to guide you,” Gus explains. “And we are here to help you decide your final place, whether it’s here or back on Earth.”

“This is a lot to take in,” Jesse admits. “I don’t know – what, like, to say.”

“Then do not say anything,” Gus replies. “This, as you have been told, is purgatory. This is where souls go to work out what they’ve left unresolved in life.”

“Like what?” Jesse inquires – _what could Gus’ unresolved business be? He always seemed to have everything under control. I’m still a little surprised that the poison managed to beat him._

“Depends on the person,” Mike replies. Jesse’s eyes widen a little.

“What if I decide I’d rather just live?” he asks.

“It’s at a cost,” Mike says bluntly, “And it’s not always entirely up to you.” 

“Did you both get to decide?” Jesse asks.

“Yes,” Mike says, before Gus can answer, though the look he’s shooting Jesse is as if the younger man just asked a very inappropriate and rude question at an important dinner. “Mr. Fring chose to stay and I chose to stay in order to assist him.” Jesse blinks at the fact that Gus apparently needs henchmen even in the afterlife.

“And why did you choose to stay?” Jesse asks Gus. The unflappable businessman actually looks slightly uneasy, and Jesse realizes that in this question he’s gone too far. Even now, even in this bizarre other plane of existence, Gus still gives nothing away, still holds his cards to his chest. 

“All will become clear,” he replies simply. “Let us begin your journey. We may travel downward from our homes, but not upward. So let us travel downward.”

Jesse gulps.

“So you guys mean like… Hell?”

“Yeah, kid,” Mike replies, “You might wanna take off that hoodie.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey, Marie. It’s Skyler.” She’s standing in a bathroom stall, one foot on the lid of the toilet and her phone tucked behind her ear. Walt is still wiling away his time in the waiting room, she knows – but she had to get away for a moment, had to check in, had to get her head above water. Soon it will be back to Walt and back to this and back to…

“Oh, hey, Skyler,” Marie answers quickly. She sounds slightly distracted, but Skyler can’t put a finger on what she’s distracted by. She then thinks of a few scenarios, and decides it’s better not to know – hopefully she hasn’t interrupted a moment between Marie and Hank. “Did you track down Walt?”

“Yeah, I did,” Skyler replies, “I may be here a while, Walt is… it turns out he’s somebody’s primary health… person.” She can’t remember the term off-hand, and she’s pretty sure that Marie is about to jump in with the right word – either that, or encourage her to drag Jesse to the hospital she works at instead. 

“Whose?” Marie inquires, her voice perking up.

“Jesse Pinkman’s.”

“The Pinkman kid? But why…?” Marie’s voice sounds like it is somewhere at the intersection between shocked, offended, and insatiably curious. 

“Seems like he and Walt are… close,” Skyler replies, slipping the implication in effortlessly.

“Close… like how?” She has Marie’s full attention now. She can actually see Marie’s eyes widening in her mind, and she smiles. Sometimes her sister is just too easy. 

“Like… close… I don’t know. I’m as surprised as you are, Marie.”

“You mean… Well, you know… Why someone would put someone as their health care proxy?” Marie begins ( _oh, that’s the word – proxy. Walt is Jesse Pinkman’s proxy_ ), then answers her own question, “Your husband is having an affair with…”

“Shush, Marie,” Skyler interrupts quickly, “Keep it down. You think Hank would let him live that down?” _Not that Walt doesn’t deserve it, but… well, let Marie tell Hank. If that ends up being Walt’s cover, so be it._

“You’re not upset?”

“I’m supposed to be upset because you think Walt is sleeping with Jesse Pinkman?” Skyler tries to sound offended and shocked, and the result sounds pretty authentic. 

“I never said ‘sleeping with’, exactly,” Skyler can almost feel the wink in Marie’s voice, “I just… Come on, Skyler, look at the simplest answer. Occam’s Razor. It fits, though – it’s a mid-life crisis. Sports cars and 25 year olds.” _Except we returned the sports car, thankfully._

“Except Jesse Pinkman is a 25 year old boy.” _Occam’s Razor doesn’t fit Walt. Maybe it never has. If Marie only had any idea what’s really going on, she would… Oh, I don’t even know._

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” Marie replies.

“Well, that’s true,” Skyler agrees, and wonders how true that really is. “Anyway, I had better get back, I suppose. It’s not like Walt can do anything without my help.” She gives a light giggle with mirth that she doesn’t feel, hasn’t felt in almost a year. 

***

“Where am I now?” Jesse can’t bring himself to open his eyes, because he knows the answer, and knows that if he opens his eyes whatever he’s about to see is going to scare the shit out of him. 

Upon getting no answer, however, Jesse cracks his left eye open and sees a blue wall.

_Okay._

_Not too scary so far._

He cracks open his right eye, before craning his head around. No sign of Gus or Mike. 

Suddenly, his eardrums rattle with a sharp, high-pitched sound.

_Ding. Ding. Ding._

Jesse shudders and turns quickly, to be faced with the foreboding form of Tuco Salamanca. 

“Hey! It’s the little bitch!” Tuco exclaims, laughing hysterically.

The shriek of the bell cuts through the air again.

“Tio?” Tuco calls. “I’m coming, Tio, don’t worry!”

Jesse’s eyes open a little wider.

“Have you seen my Tio?” Tuco asks him, almost politely, as if he hadn’t just called him a “little bitch”. 

“No,” Jesse stammers out. “He’s still alive, I think.”

“You’re lying!” Tuco barks, slapping Jesse hard across the face. “He’s here! I just haven’t found him yet – can’t you hear his goddamned bell going off?”

 _Ding. Ding. Ding._ Tuco turns and runs off, out of view. Jesse is left staring, before he slowly, tentatively takes a step forward, feeling his feet sink into wet sand or mud or something – he looks down and it’s a dark red mud. It looks like the bits of Emilio that rained from Jesse’s ceiling and his stomach turns; he feels a stab in his gut and he leans forward.

Behind Jesse there is a growl, and he flips around. Now he is facing Krazy-8, his neck covered in contusions and his eyes full of pure red/black hate. Jesse takes a step back.

“Happy with your Heisenberg, are you, Jesse?” he hisses. “Are you glad you teamed up with him?” 

Jesse backs up and bumps into a hunched over woman wearing a black hood that obscures her face and allows just a bit of pale skin to shine through, and as he looks at her he can tell she’s one of the meth addicts he used to see roaming around ABQ, near the bus stops. He’s never really thought about it before, but looking at her now, she looks like Death himself or herself, like a huge white malformed snake dressed up to look like a person, a person reduced to a shell by his product. 

“Change?” she wails at him. “Change?” 

Jesse turns and runs, but he trips, feels the red slime fall out from under him as he collapses in it, feels the paste stick to his lower body. He lurches, throwing up in front of him as he starts to cry. He can feel now, a needle prick his skin, drive in tight – he cries out. In the background, he hears, “You damn skank!” and then a crunch.

There’s a hand on his shoulder that violently jerks him up. 

“Come on, kid,” Mike’s voice tells him, “Let’s get you out of here.”


	7. In Times Like These

“Mr. White? Mrs. White? You’ll be able to see Mr. Pinkman soon,” Dr. Hendrickson tells them. “He’s still unconscious but he’s stabilized; we’re just keeping an eye on him for a little while longer before you can see him.”

“What’s his prognosis?” Walt asks desperately.

“It’s too soon to tell, Mr. White. All we can do is wait and see how long he takes to come out of the coma.”

“Coma?” Skyler chimes in, horrified. 

“Now, try not to jump to conclusions,” the doctor counsels, “We won’t know what we’re dealing with, in terms of possible brain damage, until he wakes up. In the meantime, we’re keeping him comfortable.” Walt looks sedated, then suddenly alarmed.

“What kind of painkillers?” he demands.

“Morphine…” the doctor begins.

“Jesse is a former opiate addict, you moron!” Walt snaps. “What are you thinking?”

“It’s standard proc…” 

“The last time he was in here – when he had half of his face bashed in might I add, he _refused_ painkillers for just that reason!”

“Walt,” Skyler tries to cut in.

“Mr. White, I think it’s best in this…” the doctor continues, ignoring Skyler. Skyler waits a beat and then cuts in again. 

“Are there non-opiate painkillers that would be as effective?” she asks.

“No,” the doctor replies, “The strongest thing we could give him would be prescription-strength ibuprofen.” Walt opens his mouth.

“Walt,” Skyler snaps, “Would you rather have him potentially…” She holds up her hands, “Only potentially – relapsing for a brief period, or in unbearable pain?”

“Skyler, stay out of this. You weren’t there. You don’t understand what those drugs did to Jesse.” _What those drugs made me do to Jesse,_ Walt adds silently. _What those drugs brought about. Wayfarer 515, would she even believe it?_

“Walt,” Skyler cuts in. 

“No, Skyler, listen to me. I don’t want him re-addicted, I don’t want him going through withdrawal, I don’t want…”

“Walt, he might not live long enough to go through withdrawal,” Skyler tells him bluntly. “Give him the pain meds and we can deal with the aftermath when he is _out_ of this.” 

“We? Where did ‘we’ come into this? I’m the one looking after Jesse’s best interests!”

“Yes, in the future. You are too blinded by emotion and grief to think clearly. You need to think about this logically and do what is best for Jesse now.” Skyler locks eyes with her husband, and Walt looks over to the doctor. 

“It’s your call, Mr. White.”

Walt sighs.

“Give him the painkillers,” he whispers, trying not to think that this might be the last decision regarding Jesse that he’ll ever have to make, a decision that hinges on the fact that he might not see another day.

***

Gus Fring stands on the edge of a bridge, with Jesse next to him. If Jesse had to guess, he’d assume the bridge was made out of metal, because looking down he can see right through the cracks. Looking over the bridge, he sees nothing but clouds and fog; he wonders how far up this is, or how far away this is. Is it in another dimension? Another planet? Has he been spirited away, or is his body still lying on the ground or in some operating room?

Gus simply looks over the edge for a long time, before he speaks.

“You asked why I chose to stay,” he begins, turning to look straight at Jesse. “I’d like you to meet someone, Pinkman.”  
Gus turns and begins to walk. Jesse follows, silent, wondering exactly how he got here, to this place, to the ground falling out from under him.

“Maximo,” Gus calls, and a man who can’t be much older than Jesse appears, bronze-skinned and wide-eyed.

“Gustavo,” the man replies simply, his eyes lighting up. Jesse looks back and forth from one to the other before locking eyes with Gus, as if to ask, is this what it looks like?

“Jesse, this is Maximo. My former business partner. My first cook.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jesse replies, shrugging one shoulder. The look in Gus’ eyes is one that Jesse has never seen before, and it’s sort of freaking him out. “Are you two...” Gus looks at him.

“Yes?” he inquires. Jesse decides that even in the afterlife, Gus is the last person he wants to question the sexuality of. 

“Never mind,” he murmurs quickly. “So you stayed for him?”

Gus smiles – as Jesse manages to hold back a shudder – and replies simply, “Wouldn’t you?”

***

“Do you think we ought to call this Andrea girl?” Skyler suggests as they wait for word on when Jesse will be stable enough for visitors.

“And say what?” Walt retorts, “She’s probably just another one of Jesse’s user junkie girlfriends.” Skyler recoils.

“That’s harsh. What experience are you drawing from?” she inquires, looking at him quizzically.

“His last…” Walt begins, but the last person he wants to start talking about is Jane. “Jesse’s just – he’s a little gullible. He doesn’t have the best taste in friends.”

“We should still let her know, at least once he’s stable. Do you know how to contact any of his other friends? His parents?”

“Jesse’s parents disowned him. And his friends have names like… Hedgehog, and things like that.” Skyler rolls his eyes.  
“Mr. White? Mrs. White?” Dr. Hendrickson interrupts as he emerges in front of them. “You can come see Mr. Pinkman now.”   
The two are led down a hall that reminds Walt of something out of The Shining; the walls are a dismal gray and the tiles are a dull, off-turquoise color. He suspects there to be a tide of blood rushing over the tiles any moment now. 

A door opens and they walk inside. Jesse is lying there, tubes and bandages covering much of his thin frame. He looks so much like a kid, like… an innocent child. _Gus sent this boy to Mexico and who knows what he saw?_ Walt wonders. _I can’t… He sent this boy to Mexico and I let him go…_


	8. Exit Infinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is "One Night in Bangkok" from _Chess_. Don't own it, didn't write it.

“I can’t come with you to the next stop,” Mike tells Jesse. “As I said, we can only travel downward, not upward – that’s the way things work here.”

“I always thought it was more self-contained,” Jesse replies, swallowing hard. The next stop must be… well, it should be better than the last one, but everything’s so surreal that he doesn’t know anymore.

“No, it’s more fluid than that – and it’s not hard to go between them.” He puts his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, and Jesse feels his heart drop, remembering… Oh God, remembering carrying him into the makeshift hospital and he was just lying there while the doctors only bothered to work on Gus.

And it didn’t do either of them any good but it was just so unfair.

“Close your eyes, kid.”

He does, lets them slip closed but it feels like such an effort to do so, which surprises him. He can feel himself become weightless, like he’s a kid again and riding the Gravitron with his friends at the carnival.

When he opens his eyes, he’s not sure what he was expecting, but it’s not quite it and he wouldn’t know how to describe it other than it’s like finding himself smack dab in the middle of a sunset. It’s oddly dark but bright, too, and then he hears a voice.

“Jesse.” 

He recognizes it instantly and moves to it as to a source of warmth, of light, and that is, after all, who this voice belongs to, a source of warmth and light.

“Aunt Jenny,” Jesse whispers, unable to blink because he might miss her, but there she is – the pretty brunette in her 50’s, a kind smile and the same deep blue eyes as Jesse. The woman who’d stay up nights playing Trivial Pursuit with Jesse, praising him every right answer, who’d glow with pride about her useless nephew because _Jesse’s so kind, I’m so lucky to have him, he’s a wonderful boy._ Who had loved him unconditionally, who’d chased the possum with him around the house, trying to flush it out, laughing all the while before giving up and calling the exterminator, before being insistent that it was still there and giving it a name, the woman who’d left Jesse her house because _You need a home, Jesse – everything else you can get in time, everything else will fall into place but you always need somewhere where you can come home and know that it’s yours._

Jesse whips his arms out and clings to her, burying his head in her shoulder.

“Jesse,” Aunt Jenny repeats, rubbing his back gently. “What brings you here so soon?” The words are said without judgment, just some surprise and curiosity. Jesse slowly lets go and pulls back, his eyes full of tears.

“Got hit by a car,” he replies. “I think.” Jenny nods.

“I’ve seen. Your Mr. White is waiting for you to wake up.” Jesse looks surprised. 

“Mr. White’s there in the hospital?”

“He hasn’t left since you’ve been admitted.” Jenny reaches out and takes Jesse’s hand in hers. “He cares for you very much.”

“I know he does,” Jesse replies, but he isn’t sure – just doesn’t want to argue, not now.

“There’s some folks who want to see you,” Jenny says, hugging her nephew again. “Come with me?”

She leads him by the arm he loses track of the distance in favor of just relishing the feeling of being touched with affection – the last time had been… when… when Mr. White had hugged him after Jane… after…

He finds himself jerked out of his thoughts by the fact that he is now staring at some sort of stage.

At first, he can only make out blurry outlines – a tall, pudgy man dressed in a pure white suit (with a top hat and black cane) flanked by two women, one with long, silky blonde hair and the other with short black hair. Each has one elbow on one of the man’s shoulders.

Jesse recognizes the man first, but doesn’t have time to think about it as he sings out (for, Jesse realizes, he somehow caught them in the middle of a musical number):  
 _“One town's very like another  
When your head's down over your pieces, brother…”_

The two girls – Jesse recognizes the black-haired girl, now, as she comes into view, how could there have ever been any doubt? – lean in on either side of the man and chime:  
 _“It's a drag, it's a bore, it's really such a pity  
To be looking at the board, not looking at the city!”_

There’s a twirl of the cane and the man, the ringmaster, almost, sings back:  
 _“Whaddya mean? Ya seen one crowded, polluted, stinking town…”_

The girls are dressed in white too, bright white, dresses like the ones Jesse has seen in old movie musicals of the thirties that his aunt used to watch. 

_“Tea, girls, warm, sweet  
Some are set up in the Somerset Maugham suite…”_

It’s hard to distinguish one voice from another as they sing it out; they blend together like he’s listening to a recording. The man, too, has near perfect pitch, and Jesse wonders aimlessly if he had it in life, had it before.

_“Get Thai'd! You're talking to a tourist  
Whose every move's among the purest   
I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine…”_

The girls move into a two-person chorus line, kicking their legs out before surrounding the man, darting past Jesse as they continue, almost as if they don’t see him, and he wonders if it’s all an illusion and maybe they really don’t. 

_“One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble  
Not much between despair and ecstasy   
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble   
Can't be too careful with your company   
I can feel the devil walking next to me…” _

The blonde girl grabs Jesse, pulls him in, swings him and now he’s staring into two faces he thought he’d never see again, and one of those he never wanted to see again. 

She twirls him, dips him as the voice resumes:  
 _“Siam's gonna be the witness  
To the ultimate test of cerebral fitness  
This grips me more than would a  
Muddy old river or reclining Buddha  
And thank God I'm only watching the game -- controlling it –   
I don't see you guys rating   
The kind of mate I'm contemplating   
I'd let you watch, I would invite you   
But the queens we use would not excite you   
So you better go back to your bars, your temples, your massage parlours…”_

There’s a big finish of sorts, and Jesse’s being moved like a marionette, dancing though he wants to run, wants to flee.

_“One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster  
The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free   
You'll find a god in every golden cloister   
A little flesh, a little history   
I can feel an angel sliding up to me   
One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble   
Not much between despair and ecstasy   
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble   
Can't be too careful with your company   
I can feel the devil walking next to me!”_

Jesse is gently tossed against the wall, and the two girls fall to their knees, supporting the man’s arms as they finish the song. The black-haired girl rises, flashing a huge smile in Jesse’s direction. 

“Hi, Jesse,” Jane says as she reaches out and cups his face in her hand. “How are you?” Jesse opens his mouth, but he can’t respond. “It’s been too long,” she continues then gestures behind her. “Oh, and Jesse – I believe you already know Gale.”


	9. Don't Say a Word

“Walt, you ought to go home and rest for a little while.” They’ve been standing and staring at Jesse, not speaking a word. Walt wants to touch him, but he knows he can’t, or he would risk hurting him. 

“No, Skyler,” Walt replies, “I am not going to leave him.”

“He’ll be okay, Walt. I’ll watch him.” She looks at her husband. “I promise I will call you if there’s any change.”

She is cut off by two sets of footsteps rushing into the room.

Looking over, Skyler sees that the footsteps belong to a woman in her early twenties with curly, long black hair, who is leading a little boy by her hand.

“How is he?” the girl asks frantically. When neither replies, she presses. “Jesse. How is he?”

“Critical condition,” Skyler replies, as Walt continues to stare at the girl with obvious distrust.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Andrea. Jesse’s…” she pauses a moment, “girlfriend. They had on the news about the accident – I wanted to make sure that he’s okay.”

“He’s not,” Walt shoots back tersely. Skyler can see Andrea’s eyes beginning to tear up, but the girl turns away before Skyler gets a chance to chastise Walt. 

“Okay, well, I… Can you let me know if he wakes up?” Andrea pulls an index card from her purse and scribbles down her number, handing it to Skyler. “And can you tell Jesse that Andrea and Brock stopped by?”

“Sure, okay,” Walt replies brusquely, “Andrea and Barack.” Skyler shoots him a look. 

“Brock. Like the Pokémon character,” she corrects. Walt gives her a quizzical look before Skyler turns back to Andrea. “We’ll be sure to let him know.”

Andrea steals a worried glance at Jesse before turning and ushering Brock back out the door. She doesn’t look back. 

*** 

“Gale,” Jesse’s mouth forms the word, but he can’t get it out, his lips are too dry and it hurts too badly. He shakes his head and tries desperately to look away, tries anything but to remember that moment in time, suspended, when he pulled that trigger and watched abject fear turn into… nothing at all. 

“In the flesh,” Gale Boetticher replies with a smile, “Well, sort of.”

“Gale,” Jesse repeats softly. “I’m sorry, I…” He turns, turns to run, can’t stay here, can’t – his legs won’t move and he feels a hand on his shoulder, soft and careful, as he’s turned to face Gale.

“Jesse,” the man says quietly, “It’s okay. No one hates you, no one is going to hurt you.” From his other side, Jane gently snakes her arm around him and hugs him.

“I’m gonna go,” the blonde says from behind him.

“See you later, Amber,” Jane replies pleasantly, before hugging Jesse again. “No one will hurt you, Jesse. Gale and I are here to help you.”

“But I…” Jesse begins, feeling the salt leap to his eyes, feeling his stomach clench painfully.

“I know,” Gale whispers. “I know why you did it. And it’s okay.”

“But I…”

“Shhh.” It was Jane this time, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter now. There’s more important things to worry about, now.” She holds him tight, like she’s never going to leave him, not ever again. 

*** 

“Effective, Walt. Way to snap at some teenage girl,” Skyler says as she rolls her eyes.

“The type of people Jesse associates with, I would rather not have here,” Walt retorts.

“She seemed nice.”

“She would,” Walt replies darkly.

“All right,” Skyler cuts in, “You’re going home and taking a rest.”

“Sky…”

“No. You are. Time to go home, Walt. Come back in an hour. Nothing is going to happen in an hour. But you need to sleep.” Skyler’s look showed no room for argument, and Walt threw up his hands.

“Okay. But only for an hour. You’ll stay here?”

“Walt. Yes. I promise. I won’t move from this room.”

“If Jesse wakes up…”

“If Jesse wakes up, I will _call you_. Now go.”

*** 

Walt doesn’t go home. Instead, he goes to the hospital chapel and slumps down in one of the pews.

Walt’s never been a religious man, not really, but he figures that right now he needs all the help he can get.

He claps his hands and apologizes for everything he’s done – for Jane especially, for Wayfarer 515, for even Krazy-8 and Emilio and Tuco and most of all, for the things he said to Jesse, for everything he’s done to the boy who is like a son, no, more than that, like a part of him, a part of him that he would do anything to get back. He can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do, any line he wouldn’t cross to bring Jesse back.

He hasn’t slept, really slept, since Jesse left for Mexico, and every time he had closed his eyes, he had been haunted by visions of Jesse, his Jesse, dead and left behind, another one of Gus’ discarded pawns.

But Jesse was here – crumpled and unconscious, yes, but here, not in the Mexican desert where Walt could never say goodbye, never apologize. Now he could go back to his old ways, be his old dickish self, or he could change – he’ll swear to change.

_I can change. Just save Jesse._

*** 

Alone with Jesse Pinkman again, Skyler has no idea what to do.

So she thinks of what she’d do if it were her own son.

She remembers when Walt Jr. was little, when he’d eaten some berries off a flower growing in their yard, and he’d been rushed into the hospital, Skyler and Walt both out of their minds with worry.

She could remember sitting by the 5-year-old’s hospital bed and singing to him softly.

Barring any better ideas, she does just that:  
“Hush, Jesse Pinkman, don’t say a word  
…Walt is gonna buy you a mockingbird…  
And if that mockingbird don’t sing  
Walt’s gonna buy you a diamond ring…”

 _Walt will buy you anything,_ she thinks to herself as her voice lilts of its own accord. _He has to. You’re all he has left. All we have left._


	10. Here and Back Again

“You have to go for now, Jesse,” Jane tells him quietly, when she’s stared into his eyes for what feels like equal parts forever and not a thousandth long enough.

“No,” Jesse pleads softly, clinging to her. Not this, not now. 

“Not forever,” she replies, “Just for now. I’ll see you again soon.” The look in her eyes convinces him that she’s telling the truth, making a promise. 

His hand falls away from her shoulder and now he’s standing back in the place he recognizes as purgatory, looking into the eyes of another familiar face.

“Uh…” he stammers out. “Mister…” he pauses. “Margolis.” He resists the urge to call him “Mr. Jane’s Dad” or something of the sort.

“Jesse,” the imposing man replies. _Donald Margolis. The air traffic controller. He committed… oh, God,_ Jesse thinks to himself. 

“It’s my fault,” he blurts. “I’m… sorry.” Even if he evaded Gale’s judgment, there’s no way that he can hide from this man. He can still feel the eyes boring holes into him, cutting him away. The memory of standing there, hanging limply and somehow staying on his two feet, as Mr. Margolis had come in and seen what had happened… what Jesse had done. 

“Jesse.” The word is firm, stern, and Jesse stands up a little straighter after hearing it. “Listen to me. I know one thing, in… the duplex, that day. I know that what happened was tragic. Life destroying.” The man’s voice catches in his throat a moment, and he pauses before continuing. “But I know it had destroyed you as much as it destroyed me.” Jesse shakes his head, shudders.  
“You’re not a bad kid, Jesse. It’s taken me a really long time to realize that… I wanted to blame you. I wanted to hate you.” Donald fiddles with his coat before looking back at him. “You’re just a lost kid, like Jane is – was. People make mistakes. You didn’t want to hurt her. You loved her, you were just a stupid kid. Everyone is.”

“But what I did…”

“What happened went beyond your control, Jesse,” Donald tells him. “You had no way of knowing what would happen. It was an accident. Listen to your own words – it wasn’t your fault, or even hers.”

“It’s easier to say than to believe,” Jesse mumbles. He jerks slightly when Donald reaches out and takes one hand in his. 

“You’re not a bad kid, Jesse,” he repeats, shaking his hand. “I forgive you for anything you think you did. Now, work through this and get back out there. Who will keep Jane’s memory alive if you don’t?”

“Am I… me, though?” Jesse asks. “What about… anyone better than me? Anyone less responsible than me?” 

“Who is still around who loved her more than you did?” Donald asks in response. 

***

“Walter,” a low-toned, feminine voice sings out against the acoustics of the chapel. “Walter…”

Walt jerks his head and looks around, but he can’t see anyone. For a moment he thinks he’s dreaming but he knows, knows the cold wood beneath him is real and knows that if this whole horrible situation was actually a dream, then… well, he would give anything. He can’t see where the voice is coming from; he does, however, recognize the voice, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. _Jane._ It occurs to him that he didn’t manage to learn her name until after…

Maybe he ought to keep track of that new girl’s name. What was it?

Adrienne? Ariana? Ariadne? 

Andrea. Andrea and her little son, Brock. Jesse the family man, who would have thought? But it makes a certain amount of sense, sense that Walt hasn’t seen until it’s been too late. His neglect of Jesse, his inability to save him, won’t just shatter him, it will rip a family apart. Just like his own death will, just like his own choices have. 

“Walter.”

Walt squinches his eyes shut. Hallucination is a side effect of not enough sleep, his science brain reminds him. 

“Walter… You watched me die, Walter. What would Jesse think?”

Against his will, Walt curls up in the pew, his eyes still shut, and forces himself to count down. _Need to sleep, can’t do this right now… Can’t have this voice rolling around in my head. Need all my wits together, can’t do anything if I don’t have all my wits together. Can’t be caught off-guard._

Sleeping will knock him off-guard temporarily, but staying awake he could miss… something. He remembers Jesse telling him about meth-heads he’s seen, awake for days on end, paranoid, who end up killing the people closest to them. Remembers the tale Jesse told him about the couple and their child, the couple where the wife crushed the husband with the ATM machine.  
He keeps counting 10, 9, 8… thinking to himself that this method probably never actually worked for any one, considers counting sheep instead but he keeps seeing Jesse’s face instead until finally he feels like going under, like dying, and falls asleep.

In every dream, he’s standing, watching the RV crushed, before he realizes that the stubborn Jesse’s still inside, and he hears the blood-curling screams from inside the twisted metal as Walt screams at someone to stop, stop, stop, but then he realizes that even if Jesse survives, he’ll have been torn apart, so all he can do is stand and listen as Jesse screams –

He jerks awake and rolls off the pew, colliding with the floor with a painful thud.

His phone vibrates and he reaches out, grabbing it, half-expecting to see Jesse’s name appear on its face.

It’s a text from Skyler – _come back_. He reads the words, makes sure he isn’t hallucinating those, too. He tries to reconnect the words to an event, to news. It can’t be good news. It never is. 

He rushes to his feet and runs towards the ICU, hoping he won’t be too late…

He can’t be too late…


	11. Could We Start Again, Please?

“I have an offer for you.” The words echo into Jesse’s ear, spoken so softly and so calmly. He turns and Donald is no longer standing in front of him; Gus is in his place, arms at his sides and looking as unflappable as always. “Stay here. Assist me in my business in this place.”

“What kind of business?” Jesse asks, breathing slowly and determinedly; it takes every ounce of effort. His mind is still reeling, and he’s still trying to cope with seeing Jane again, Gale again, Donald again – maybe he could handle one of them but all three is making him feel like he needs to sit down, or like he needs to seriously light up some crystal to wrap his mind around it all. He wishes Mr. White were here, maybe he could talk this out to him and figure out what he needed to do. 

“Helping me settle my business,” Gus says simply. “You will be well-needed.” _Well-needed… well-needed…_ What did that mean?

Jesse wishes he didn’t have to handle Gus alone – he’s never really been able to handle him alone. But he is alone, and that’s not going to change. 

***

Walt rushes back into Jesse’s room, finds a worried Skyler standing there.

“They said he’s getting worse,” she tells him, swallowing hard. “He’s falling deeper into a coma, they said. He’s scoring lower on that… scale of theirs, the Glascow Coma Scale.” Skyler turns and looks towards Jesse again, unable to meet Walt’s eyes.  
“Jesse,” Walt whispers, stepping closer. “If you can hear me, please wake up soon. Come back. I’m sorry about… everything.” He takes another step and no longer cares that Skyler is standing here, watching and he gently grips Jesse’s hand, interlacing his fingers with the younger man’s as he squeezes. “Jesse, I need you. I need you. Don’t give up, Jesse. Fight. You know you need to fight.” He takes a deep breath before changing tactics, like this is really a negotiation that he can work out. “Your girlfriend… Andrea… came by, with her little boy, Brock. They need you. If you don’t get better for me, get better for them?” Walt blinks hard – he will not cry, will not cry. 

Skyler watches him and doesn’t know what to feel. Walt, who’s never been particularly the “sharing and caring” type, has shut down even more over this past year. It’s a little heartbreaking to see Walt like this, so close to breaking down, but it’s also – though she feels horrible for thinking it – a relief that he’s still human.

“All we can do is wait and see,” she pipes up quietly, not wanting to startle Walt. He nods; in the corner of the room, he notices an episode of _House_ playing against the silence.

“Which episode’s that?” Walt asks, desperate to talk about anything other than Jesse being in a coma.

“It’s ‘Wilson’s Heart’,” Skyler replies. 

“What happens in that one?”

“Well… Wilson’s girlfriend… she’s sick… and it turns out it’s House’s fault. And she dies.”

Walt doesn’t want to talk about _House_ anymore. 

***

“I have stuff I need to do on Earth. You said it’d be my choice,” Jesse retorts.

“It is your choice,” Gus replies, “But there are… incentives to stay.”

“What kind of incentives?” Jesse inquires. He feels that he might be tired of Gus’ incentives – where have they brought him? They brought him _here_ , didn’t they?

“You would have a position of great usefulness,” Gus begins, “You will want for nothing. No pain, no stress, no dealing with Walter White.” Gus spat the name.

“Maybe I want to deal with Walter White,” Jesse whispers. He tries for firmness, for a lack of fear of a man who seems like he could destroy him as easily in death as in life. Not only that, but underneath all the utter hatred that coursed through Jesse for Gus, there is that realization, that admiration of Gus’ intelligence, and of the loyalty he not only inspires but commands from those men who work for him. Jesse can’t help but be a little in awe of the man.

And then there’s Mike. Forget Gus – Mike. The man who’d been there, unwavering and firm, when he’d been shattered in the wake of Jane’s death. Even before he’d seen Mr. White, he’d seen Mike. Then the man – what was his job title? P.I.? Enforcer? Just all-around bad-ass? – had taken Jesse under his wing, maybe it had been a ploy at first, no, it had definitely been a ploy at first, but Jesse was certain it had developed into more than that. 

_All the medical staff working on Gus, none on Mike – “This man needs help!” “This man pays my salary” – Jesse wishing he hadn’t screwed around in high school and had taken a goddamned First Aid class – a tourniquet, that’s what he needs, right? He pulls off his shirt, but where does it go – wrap it around, that’s got to do, apply pressure – Jenny’s words when Jake had fallen into a neighbor’s metal railing, wrap that around and apply pressure, Jesse now don’t panic, he’ll be fine, I’ll go call, just apply pressure – how old had he been? Jesse’s applying pressure to Mike’s wound but it’s not enough and he can’t stop himself from crying out in desperation, pleading that somebody needs to help him here – by the time they turn to Mike it’s too late, too late… Jesse watches the man’s eyes go dark – but they don’t close, they don’t close, they keep looking at him as if asking him why he failed, why he failed, and Jesse’s head sinks into Mike’s chest and he just cries._

“I want to go.” Jesse cannot stay here. There is nothing more he can do for Mike. Mike is Gus’ now. Perhaps he always has been. But Jesse cannot change that by belonging to Gus as well.

“Jesse,” Gus responds, “I have information that may change your mind.”


	12. Gamechanger

“It’s all up to Jesse now,” Dr. Hendrickson tells the – well, he doesn’t know quite what to call them. They act like the boy’s worried parents, though he knows they have no relation to him. He can’t quite figure it out but in the last few years, he’s decided he cannot try and figure out the weird relationships that patients are involved with; after a patient asked him to try and smuggle in a Shetland Pony as his proxy, he’s stopped asking questions. “It’s sheer force of will, now.”

“Jesse has a lot of will,” Walt inputs feebly. And he knows that the young man does; probably more will than he himself has. Which is why it’s always been mind-boggling to Walt why Jesse is so insistent upon settling in his life. Jesse’s not bright, Walt is convinced of that, but he has a certain level of creativity and determination that could make him a success at pretty much any career if he’d just bothered to, well, apply himself.

 _Apply yourself, Jesse,_ Walt tries to transmit the message into his young protégé’s head somehow. _This one time, apply yourself._

“Jesse? Can you hear me?” Walt calls aloud. “We’re waiting for you. We need you. Come back, Jesse. I know you can do it.”

***

“Not so fast,” a voice cuts in before Gus can continue. Jesse turns and it’s Jane, who’s standing behind him with her right arm raised to point accusingly at Gus, and she is flanked by Donald and Gale. “You have no right to influence his decision.” She glares at Gus, steps forward and puts a protective hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

“What do you want to tell me?” Jesse asks Gus, looking back at the man and meeting his eyes. He needs to know, he’s sure he can bear the worst now. He’s _lived_ the worst. 

“Let me tell you something about Walter White.”

***

 _Beep – beep – beep – beeeep –_ Jesse’s heart monitor begins going wild, and Walt and Skyler find themselves shoved outside of the room, only able to watch through the window, a silent movie, as they shock Jesse’s heart, before one of the doctors runs and shuts the blinds.

Skyler swallows hard, pumps a fist – she knows, if only from watching too many episodes of _House_ and _St. Elsewhere_ while sitting in the empty carwash and perhaps pretending to ring up non-existent customers – that shutting the blinds is bad, shutting the blinds is always bad –

_Will this be Walt within a year? Will they be shutting the blinds on him?_

She almost doesn’t notice when the blinds are raised again, until the doctors walk out, like Jesse’s a car that just needed an oil change and now it’s over and it’s fine so we can just –

_Is this Walt? Will this be Walt?_

It scares her more that she doesn’t know what would be worse – Walt like that, or Walt as he is now.

***

“Let me tell you what Walter White did…” Gus begins, but he’s cut off by a right hook to his temple that seemed to be out of nowhere. Jesse sees that it’s come from Donald Margolis, and he feels himself go slackjawed as he stares. He’s not sure whether he’s more surprised that Donald had the balls to punch Gus or that people can punch each other in purgatory.

“That’s my daughter’s boyfriend you’re talking to, you piece of shit,” Donald snarls, and Jesse is still gaping at the scene when Jane steps up beside him. 

“Don’t listen to a word he says!”

“Walter White…” Gus starts, even as he turns towards Donald, who runs up against him and tries to tackle him. Gus isn’t even fighting, he’s just kind of resisting and not letting himself be taken down, seemingly more focused on what he’s trying to say than the fist that keeps flying in his direction. And Mike, Mike is just _watching_ , with an unreadable look on his face. “Walter White…” Gus starts again, and there’s two more words after that but Jesse can’t hear them because Jane’s yelling in his ear.

“Walter White _loves_ you,” she cries out, and Jesse knows what Gus was going to say, if not the exact words (though he can see the man’s lips move), he knows the gist, and knows those words are true but that Jane’s are, too. “Gus is a poison,” she continues, and moves to stand between Jesse and Gus. “You don’t belong here – you have to go.”

“How?” Jesse asks desperately, because his sight is spinning and he feels sick to his stomach, he wants to lie down, and he still doesn’t know – stay with Jane or with Gus or with Mr. White who did _this_ – this _thing_ he has somehow always known – 

But now Jane’s stalked towards Gus too, trying to help her father knock him over, and Jesse looks for Mike.

“It’s up to you, kid,” is all the P.I. says. 

And then Jesse feels his hand taken in another’s. Gale’s.

Brown eyes look into blue.

“Ready to go back?” Gale asks. Jesse swallows and looks back. “She’ll be here when you’re ready to come back.”

“Gale, I’m sorry,” Jesse breathes.

“It’s okay. Gus lied to me. He never said that he would hurt Walt in any way. We were both his pawns.” He squeezes Jesse’s hands tightly. “Close your eyes and will yourself back to Walter White. To Andrea and Brock. It’s going to hurt – but I’ve got you. Just focus.”

Jesse closes his eyes and he concentrates on Mr. White with every last bit of energy he has. What follows is what Jesse imagines prisoners being executed on the electric chair must feel.

Worse are the voices that begin to echo in his head:  
“I woke up, I found her, that’s all I know.”

“Please don’t do this – you don’t have to do this.”

“Jesse, it has to be you.”

“You’ve signed my death warrant is what you’ve done!”

“I woke up, I found her, that’s all I know… _All I know… All I know…_ ”

He clings to Gale’s hands and doesn’t let go.

***

Walt and Skyler are on either side of Jesse when he bursts awake, sits up and screams out, “ _GALE!_ Shit!” 

But when Walt grips his hand, comforts, “Jesse, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” his breathing slows gradually, and he blinks.

“Mr. White.”

“That’s right, Jesse.” Walt tries not to let on that he’s trying desperately to catch his breath. “Welcome back.”


	13. Tomorrow Never Knows

“The future is looking good for Jesse,” Dr. Hendrickson tells them in private after Jesse’s return to the land of the living. “However, I can’t release him to go home, yet, due to his concussion, and when I do release him – he has to stay with somebody. Not to mention, his right leg is going to be out of commission for the next six weeks or so…”

“He can stay with us,” Skyler cuts in, and Walt’s eyes go wide.

“Stay where?” Walt exclaims.

“He could room with Junior,” Skyler replies, shrugging. 

“Why doesn’t he just stay with me in the condo?” Walt counters, though he’d prefer that Jesse’s new girlfriend take responsibility for him – not that Skyler would like it if he suggested that.

“Why don’t you move _home_ ,” Skyler retorts, “So you can _both_ live in _our_ house?”

Walt isn’t sure whether to be flattered or incredibly offended.

“And you really think it’s a good idea for Jesse to room with Junior, I mean…”

“How much trouble can he get into with a broken leg?” Skyler questions, putting her hand on her hip.

“You’d be surprised.”

***

They wheel Jesse out and into the Aztek the next morning.

“What are you going to tell Hank and Marie about this, Skyler?”

“Don’t worry,” she replies with a wink. “I drew up some bullet points.”

“Yo, Mr. White, Mrs. White, you guys really don’t have to do this. I’m fine on my own,” Jesse protests.

“It’s been settled,” Walt replies, “Skyler decided.” Jesse and Walt exchange glances, and there’s an awkward silence. Walt swallows as he hears, playing over the hospital loudspeaker, “Major Tom”; he’s fine with submitting to Skyler if it means he can rush out the door and put this behind him, the faster the better.. Jesse cocks his head to listen to the song, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu that he can’t quite pinpoint. He doesn’t feel he’s ever heard it before but it’s oddly appropriate – “coming home”, indeed. 

“So do you remember anything? From when you were in the coma?” Skyler asks Jesse. “Nosy question, sorry… but I’m curious.” She flushes, thinking to herself that she sounds like her sister.

“I only remember a little,” Jesse replies after a moment. “It was weird shit, like being in an episode of _Supernatural_ or some shit. Gu – _people_ were there. People I know who died. My aunt. And…” He pauses and looks up at Walt, taking a deep breath and thinking and rethinking what he is about to say. “Jane was there. She said she forgives you for what you did.” _I forgive you for what you did._ Walt’s face goes white.

“Walt?” Skyler inquires, blinking. _Who’s Jane, she wonders, and by that token, what connection does Jesse have to Gale Boetticher? Walt looks like he just saw a ghost…_

“I guess she meant,” Jesse covers quickly, “For not liking her.” Walt nods.

“Yeah, must have been that,” he agrees quickly. “I’m glad she does, Jesse… I’m so glad.” He tries to hide how his hands are shaking.

***

_One Month Later_

“Oh, that’s a low move! Brock, wasn’t that a low move?” Jesse turns and gently pushes the boy, as he nods eagerly.

“Cheater!” Brock exclaims, pointing at Walt Jr. and giggling wildly.

“Did…did not cheat,” he argues in his defense. “Jesse is just upset that I pulled off that Fatality before he did.”

“Likely story!” Jesse retorts in Walt Jr.’s direction, but he’s still looking at Brock and grinning.

On Jesse’s shoulder, the others can see the outer edge of his latest tattoo: two interlocking circles, with the words “Roso y Blanco” inscribed across the design. Underneath is a set of initials, J.E. M., and the years 1983 – 2008. He’s tried to reconcile the knowledge that had tossed itself into his path and decided that he can only do so by making sure he doesn’t forget, doesn’t forget what Jane means to him or what Mr. White does. He hasn’t had the confrontation that he might have thought he’d have; he has never said the words _You were there that night._ If he did, he would have to envision a scene he doesn’t want in his mind, would need to get details he never wants to hear.

He doesn’t know if that’s forgiveness, really, or just avoidance, but it works for now. 

“You want a turn?” Jesse offers the controller to Brock, whose eyes light up. “Make sure you play fair this time,” he jokingly chides Walt. Jr. “Cheating against a five-year-old is just wrong.” Brock looks at him indignantly.

“Six,” he corrects.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jesse replies, tussling Brock’s hair. “You’re six today.”

To the left of them, the “adults” are gathered around the table.

“It’s so kind of you, Mrs. White, to do this for Brock,” Andrea gushes. “It means so much.”

“After everything that’s happened to Jesse recently, it’s the least we could do,” Skyler replies.

“I have to say,” Marie, who is at the gathering, sans her husband (for which Skyler is eternally grateful – Marie’s insistence on learning about Jesse’s place in their odd little family is one thing, Hank wheeling around interrogating and investigating him would be quite another), “You’re so open-minded, Andrea. I’m really impressed.”

“Open-minded?” Andrea asks, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean, erm,” she shoots a glance at Walt, who has walked over to the couch and is handing Brock a box which contains, Skyler knows, a little chemistry set. She’s a little wary of how enthusiastic Andrea will be if Brock blows up the house with Walt’s gift, but she encouraged it regardless – he’s taking an interest in something other than evading the authorities and transporting bags of money. Marie pauses and simply finishes, “Never mind.” 

She doesn’t shatter the mood; it’s a picture-perfect moment. Jesse is where he belongs, at least for now, in his place in the hailstorm that is the life of Walter H. White. And Skyler’s okay with that – even if it’s just the eye of that storm.


End file.
